


We Fit Together Like Two Pieces of a Broken Heart

by GodricSalzaar16, NightmareCrusader



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Break Up, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, Communication, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Major Character Injury, Minor Bellamy Blake/Echo, Pain, Post-Canon, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodricSalzaar16/pseuds/GodricSalzaar16, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareCrusader/pseuds/NightmareCrusader
Summary: The war is over and everyone is living semi-peacefully in the Valley. But for Clarke, it's all too much.She feels guilty over everything she's done - in the past week, in the last seven years. Her friends hate her. Madi hates her.Bellamy hates her so much he can't evenlookat her.Not that she blames him.But there's no more running. There's nowhere to go on this ruined earth to get away from it all. So she decided to do the one thing she still has control over. And Octavia ends up giving her the perfect opportunity.





	We Fit Together Like Two Pieces of a Broken Heart

“ _You,”_ a familiar voice comes from behind her.

 

Clarke doesn’t turn, doesn’t move. She sits on a large rock, overlooking the desert. She’s been here once before, sunburn and thirsty, screaming on her knees with a gun to her head. This is where she found the Valley, and this is where she will leave it.

 

She knows why Octavia is here, has been expecting it for some time now. She’s actually surprised it took Octavia so long to make her move. Still, Clarke remains seated as muffled footsteps approach. Despite Madi being the Commander now, there are still those who follow Octavia unquestionably. Clarke isn’t surprised that when Octavia stands in front of her, Miller is right by her side.

 

“Octavia,” is all Clarke says, not bothering to look at the woman.

 

Octavia is still dressed in her armor, her war paint now smudged and uneven across her cheeks and forehead. She has a hand on the sword at her hip, the other held behind her back. Miller has the gun he’s been carrying with him since he got out of the bunker pointed at Clarke’s head.

 

“You know why I’m here,” it’s not a question. They both know the answer.

 

“Of course,” Clarke says, finally lifting her gaze to look into steel, grey eyes. Octavia glares down at her, not a hint of the carefree girl she once was in her gaze – not that Clarke expected to see any. Clarke stares Octavia down.

 

“You’re here to kill me,” Clarke says, holding Octavia’s gaze for a few seconds before bowing her head. It’s not an act of submission, per-say. Clarke just can’t bear to look at her anymore.

 

“You don’t sound too threatened by that,” Octavia says. Neither of them makes a move for their weapons. Maybe Octavia came here expecting a fight. Clarke had already used up all her fight on the others. She had nothing left to give.

 

“I’m not,” Clarke says with a shrug. Octavia lifts a messy eyebrow.

 

“Are you going to resist?” she asks but Clarke shakes her head. Somehow, Octavia’s eyebrow raises further.

 

“I only have one request,” Clarke says, standing and dusting herself off. Miller points his gun higher, but she isn’t bothered by it.

 

“And what’s that?” Octavia asks, seeming more intrigued than anything else by the entire situation.

 

“Give me your knife,” Clarke says.

 

The words hang in the air between them, growing old and stale as Octavia contemplates if she should hand over her weapon to a woman who once tried to kill her. More than once, too. She must come to a decision very quickly because she unsheathes her sword and points the hilt at Clarke.

 

“Blodriena,” Miller warns, but both Clarke and Octavia ignore him.

 

“What will you do with it?” Octavia asks. Maybe she’s wondering if Clarke will try to kill her. But they both know how pointless it would be. Clarke would have a bullet in her head before she could get the sword anywhere near Octavia’s heart.

 

“Something you don’t expect,” Clarke says, turning away from both of them.

 

She stands at the top of the cliff, looking down at the Valley. It looks the same as the day she found it, and she can’t help but feel nostalgic. Despite already having made her decision – even before Octavia arrived and handed her an opportunity – Clarke still lets out a shuddering breath as she toys with the sword. She feels the heavy weight in her hands, but it’s so much more than just the weight of the sword. It’s the weight of the choice she’s about to make.

 

It’s the weight of her entire life.

 

She grips the hilt, lifting it high above her head. She takes a deep breath as she presses the end of the blade to the middle of her chest. The sharp end cuts through her clothes easily, poking at her skin. A tiny droplet of blood trickles down her chest but she barely feels it.

 

_I can do this._

 

She closes her eyes. Against her will, memories of the last few days resurface.

 

She remembers Raven and the others.

 

“ _You just left him there to die!” Raven shouted, her eyes wide with fury and hurt._

 

_Clarke knew Raven was trying to reconcile the woman standing before her with the person she had known six years ago._

 

“ _What would you have me do, Raven? I had to protect Madi,” Clarke said. She wasn’t trying to reason with her. She knew Raven would never understand._

 

“ _Madi’s my family.”_

 

“ _Yeah, well Bellamy is mine. And if you ever cared for him you would have never left him there! You know, I tell myself the Clarke I knew would never have done this, but that’s not true. You’ve always been like this. Willing to sacrifice everyone else but not yourself. Bellamy was right, you’re_ not _our family.”_

 

The words had stung. Clarke had reeled back, tears gathering in her eyes. But Raven had delivered one last blow.

 

“ _Just go. You’ve done enough here. We don’t need you. We never did.”_

 

Clarke makes a sound and pushed the blade in a little deeper. It was enough to make a small tear trail down her cheek, but she clenches her jaw and closes her eyes again.

 

_Bellamy could barely look at her. They’d won the battle – with Madi’s as Commander. She hadn’t wanted forgiveness, hadn’t wanted anything really. All she wanted to do was apologize. Even if he hated her now – even if he hated her for the rest of their lives – he had been her best friend once._

 

“ _Bella-”_

 

“ _No. You don’t get to come up to me. You don’t get to say anything to me after you left me to die,” he snarled at her, his lips curled upwards as he glared down at her. Sharp pinpricks of pain stabbed her heart and she gulped._

 

“ _Bellamy, I just want to-”_

 

“ _I know what you want to do. You want to make me_ understand. _You want to ask for forgiveness. Well, too bad. I don’t forgive you. I can’t. Everything I did, I did for you – to protect you. And you turned around and threw it back in my face like it was nothing. Like_ I _was nothing. So no Clarke. God, I wish we’d never found you.”_

 

 _His words rang in her ears, loud and deafening in their finality. She watched him walk away, not sparing her a second glance. He made his way over to his_ family. _To Raven and Emori and Echo and Murphy and Monty and Harper. They embraced each other. She watched detached, feeling further away from them – from herself – as she’d ever been._

 

_She turned away, tears falling down her cheeks._

 

A dry sob left her at the memory and she pushed the sword a little deeper, breaking through skin and bone and muscle. It hurt, but the words hurt more. Physical pain she could handle. She could bear it. But his words were so much worse. Six years she wished and dreamed and hoped he would appear. But now he was here and he _wished he’d never found her_.

 

She fell to her knees and bit her lip at the flare of pain that sparked across her body at the jostling of the sword.

 

“ _Excuse me,” Clarke said, trying to get past the guard guarding the chapel. Madi had been held inside, Jackson tending to her wounds while Clarke had been busy with the other soldiers._

 

_A big, burly man stepped into her path and drew his weapon._

 

“ _I’m afraid I can’t let you pass,” he said, holding his weapon out and blocking her path. She stared at him in disbelief._

 

“ _Move,” Clarke said, her voice hard as stone. Panic overtook her at the thought that they were hurting Madi in any way._

 

“ _I cannot let you pass,” he repeated and she wanted to scream. All she wanted to do was see her daughter!_

 

“Why not? _” she demanded and an uncomfortable look came over the man’s face. The other man took over, stepping in front of the first and giving her a hard glare. She stumbled back in surprise._

 

“ _Our_ Heda _told us not to allow you inside this chapel. It was her command, and we shall obey it,” he said, her gaze never leaving hers. His gaze traveled over her body, unimpressed. When he finally looked at her again, his words struck down on her like lightning._

 

“ _She no longer has a need of you.”_

 

Madi hadn’t wanted to see her. Madi probably hated her. Her own daughter _hated_ her. That hurt more than anything anyone could possibly say or do. Raven and Bellamy and all the rest didn’t matter. Only Madi mattered. And Madi didn’t need her. Didn’t want her. She felt the same desperation she had that day – the day she pressed that gun to her head. It clawed at her insides. She was alone. She was alone and it was all her fault. She’d done this to herself. She pushed everyone away. Made enemies of her closet friends.

 

_But what did you expect to happen?_

 

Not this.

 

She gritted her teeth

 

“May we meet again.”

 

*

 

Octavia watches as Clarke Griffin – once the leader of the Sky People, once the Commander of Death, once her _friend_ – plunges Octavia’s own sword through her chest. For a moment, she feels content. She feels validated, powerful and triumphant. And then that feeling is smothered by the unrepentant, unparalleled fear gripping her.

 

“No,” Octavia croaks, despite herself. “ _No.”_

 

Clarke lets out a pathetic whimper of pain, falling forward, her body crumbling like a heap to the hard ground. Octavia stumbles forward, almost falling. Miller grips her upper arm and keeps her upright. She stares at the pool of blood surrounding Clarke’s body and all she can think was _No!_

 

~~_No no no no no no no no no no no_ ~~

 

It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t logical the panic that cascades through her like a waterfall. Clarke has tried to kill her – more than once. And yet, here Octavia is, tears gathering in her eyes. She doesn’t know what she expected other than _it wasn’t supposed to be like this._

 

“Blodreina,” Miller says again, but Octavia grips his arm tight enough to hurt.

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Octavia says, turning her gaze to Miller. Her voice breaks as she looks at him. “Don’t call me that.”

 

He looks shocked, angry, hurt and most of all, confused. She’s confused too. She’s utterly confused as she tears herself out of Miller’s grip and stumbles forward. She trips her way over to Clarke’s body, instincts fighting emotion. Her instincts scream at her to stop.

 

_This is what you wanted!_

 

But somehow it’s not. Bellamy’s face flashes in her mind. Then Indra’s. Then Gaia’s. Then Madi’s. Everyone she’s ever killed, everyone she’s ever sentenced to that fucking pit. It was all for nothing. It had all been for nothing. She wasn’t in charge anymore. They weren’t her people anymore. She didn’t have her brother or her friends or _anyone._

 

 _But isn’t that what you wanted?_ A familiar voice whispered in her mind and she makes a pained sound. _You say love is weakness. Then what are you doing?_

 

Thelonious Jaha is somewhere close to her right, looking entirely unimpressed with her. She glares at him.

 

 _I did what you wanted me to! I did everything you told me to do and look where I am! Look where that’s gotten me!_ She shouts back at him, falling to her knees a few feet away from Clarke. She shuffles forward, years of conditioning still telling her to turn back and just let Clarke die.

 

 _That’s entirely your own fault,_ Thelonious says and his face is a blank mask. One she’s seen too many times on her own face. She wants to cry. To scream and punch the ground and claw Jaha’s fucking eyes out. _I provided you with the weapons – what you chose to do with them is entirely on you._

 

 _What am I supposed to do?_ She asks, she screams at him, but he gives her no answer. Just stares.

 

_Octavia..._

 

She freezes in place at the sound of _that_ voice. It had been so long. _So long_. She lets out an unsteady breath and turns her head. He’s knelt next to her, the same way he had been when he died. Octavia lets out a hoarse sob at the sight of him and has to contain herself before she throws herself at an apparition.

 

He doesn’t frown at her. His face isn’t contorted into an expression of anger or disappointment or anything she expected it to be. Instead, he looks peaceful. Instead, he _smiles_ at her. She sobs harder.

 

 _Tell me what to do,_ she begs him.

 

He reaches forward and she almost flinches at the ghost of his touch on her cheek. She can’t feel him, but she remembers. She remembers each callous on his hands. Remembers the way coal and mud would stick to his fingers after he finished sketching. She remembers his gentle touch carding through her hair, his strong arms as he carries her to safety, as he holds her close to his body, as he teaches her to fight.

 

She remembers everything about him.

 

“ _Lincoln,_ ” she whispers, tears falling freely down her cheeks. His smile is sweet, soft. Everything she is not. And yet he looks at her with the same look in his eyes as when he’d first seen her.

 

 _You know what to do,_ he says as he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. The brush of his lips is but the gust of the wind, but she feels it in her soul all the same. A shaky breath leaves her as he retreats. Again, he smiles. He caresses her cheek.

 

_You’ve always known._

 

He leaves with the wind, disappearing before her eyes. The feeling of loss consumes her again and she collapses forward with a harsh gasp. Lincoln had known her – better than she knew herself. And he had always believed in them. In her.

 

_You know who you are._

 

“I know who I am,” she repeats.

 

“Miller!” she calls and he’s by her side in a second. “Help me.”

 

He’s confused, she knows that. They came here to kill Clarke for the things she’s done, not the _save_ her. But Octavia’s mind is screaming at her and all her thoughts sound like Jaha and she hates it. So she was doing the one thing that sounds like herself. A very tiny voice in the back of her mind grows louder and somehow she knows. She is awakening.

 

“Blo- Octavia,” Miller says, staring down at her. “What are you doing?”

 

“Miller – _Nathan,”_ she says, pleading with him as she gently brings Clarke’s body closer to her own, careful not to jostle the sword and make things worse.

“You have been by my side for six years. You have followed me, trusted me,” she says, hauling Clarke up and almost staggering under her weight. “So trust me now and _get her legs._ ”

Miller doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t wait. He grabs Clarke’s legs and lifts them until Clarke’s weight is evenly distributed between the two of them. Miller nods and they slowly, painstakingly make their way down the hill and through the trees. Octavia prays to every god she knows, hopes on her life that they can make it back in time to save Clarke’s life.

When she hears people milling around and voices fill her ears, she screams.

“Help! Somebody help!”

*

John is with the rest of the group as they stand around in front of the chapel. Apparently, Madi – the new fucking Commander, because that was a _thing_ that happened – wants to speak with them. He tunes out his friends’ voices and tries to scourer the crowd for Clarke. But the tiny blond is nowhere to be seen. John’s trepidation grows.

He remembers the way Raven and Emori and _Echo_ had screamed at Clarke. They way they’d hurled insult after insult at her, even when she’d retreated. He remembers how angry he’d been as well, but unlike the rest of them, he could _understand._ Because him and Clarke Griffin? They always understood each other.

“What do you think she wants?” Echo asks the question mostly directed at Bellamy.

Bellamy himself looks worn out and tired, heavy with the end of a battle and grief over losing his best friend. God, those two are so pathetic.

“I have no idea,” Bellamy says, but he’s not looking anywhere near Echo and even at a distance, John can see Echo is upset by this. John almost feels sorry for her. Before anyone can say anything more, a shout rings out across the camp.

“Help! Somebody help!”

Everyone springs into action, all taking defensive stances and trying to find where the threat was coming from. But John, he knows that voice. And so does Bellamy.

“Octavia?” Bellamy calls out, moving towards the trees where the shout came from. More screaming is heard and John watches in detached horror as Octavia and Miller emerge from the trees carrying a body. _Clarke’s_ body.

“Oh my god,” Raven mutters next to him and he turns to look at their group. Bellamy is frozen, a statue staring straight ahead. Raven and Emori’s eyes are both wide in horror and fear. Even Echo looks struck. Shaw looks like he’s about to throw up. Monty is gripping Harper’s hand so tight, John is afraid it might bruise. Harper herself is struggling not to collapse.

John turns away from them, ignoring their cries as he takes in the scene before him.

Clarke is unconscious, a sword – _Octavia’s_ sword – sticking out of her chest at an odd angle. Blood mares her clothes, her skin and drips onto the ground into a small puddle. Octavia is still screaming. John looks to Bellamy, but he is still unmoving. John doesn’t even think the man is breathing.

“Fucking everything by myself,” John says under his breath and surges forward.

“This way!” he shouts, ushering Octavia and Miller towards the med-bay. They both look thankful for the instruction as they carefully maneuver Clarke’s body, trying not to cause any more damage.

Abby and Jackson are in the med-bay when John, Octavia, and Miller burst through the doors. They both startle at the entry and John quickly says, “Don’t freak out.”

They look suitably confused before Abby catches sight of Clarke and inhales sharply.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Abby whispers, moving forward faster than John can blink and shouting instructions at Jackson, Octavia, and Miller. John stands uselessly to the side, watching as they scramble to _stop the blood, get the sword out, get me bandages and blood and –!_

He leaves, unable to take it anymore. There was just so much blood.

Bellamy has fallen to his knees by the time John gets back to the rest of them. Raven is sobbing loudly into Harper’s shoulder – Harper, whose own sobs as quieter and more contained, but still ripping through her. Monty is staring blankly ahead, not hearing or seeing any of them. _Shock,_ John thinks. Emori looks like she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to act. Echo looks torn. Worst of all is Madi.

She must have come out of the chapel at some point when Octavia and Miller had shown up with the body. She stands, much like Monty, in complete shock. John makes a sound, drawing her attention. She doesn’t hesitate, just flings down the stairs and into his waiting arms. Each sob pierces through his being as she shakes against him, her face buried in his chest.

The door creaks behind him, and John turns to find Octavia standing before them. She’s blinking in shock. Her hands and clothes are covered in blood – Clarke’s blood. She stumbles down the steps and towards them. She looks like she’s waking up from a fever dream. So unsure of herself. So unlike the _Blodreina_ he’s seen and heard about over the last few days. It makes his blood boil the closer she gets. Before he can say anything, it’s _Bellamy –_ who has woken from his catatonic state – that speaks up.

“What did you do?” Bellamy whispers, his voice hoarse and soft. He lifts his dead gaze to look at his sister, and John would have surely frozen beneath the ice of his eyes. When Octavia does nothing but stare at him in confusion, John can see Bellamy snap.

“ _WHAT DID YOU DO?_ ” his voice booms across the camp and everything goes quiet, all eyes trained on him.

  


Octavia flinches but doesn’t move away. She doesn’t look at Bellamy – doesn’t look at any of them as she speaks.

“It wasn’t me,” Octavia says, softly. She stares down at the ground. “I went there to kill her, but Bellamy–”

She cuts herself off and looks up. John is shocked to see actual _tears_ running down her face.

“She did it to herself.”

The words were a bomb, exploding all around them. John’s chest collapses in on itself at the implication of those words. Her heart stops and then he realized that _no_ , it isn’t his heart. It’s Madi. She has gone completely still against him, looking at Octavia in naked horror.

“She asked for my sword and she–” again she couldn’t finish.

“She did it herself. She tried to _kill_ herself.”

 

*

 

It’s been a few days since... the _incident –_ as they call it. The first night Bellamy had been in a state of complete shock. He’d sat on the edge of his cot, unable to sleep as he listened to Madi sob in the background. They had all been taking shifts guarding Madi. The girl fell in and out of consciousness, but never once did she stop crying. Not even in rest.

 

It took three days of Abby and Jackson – and everyone who could possibly help – performing risky surgery, for Clarke to pull through. There had been a few times where Abby would stumble out of the med-bay, looking for more supplies. Once Bellamy caught her with Kane, hunched over as Kane held her. She sobbed, words falling from her lips around her tears. _What if she doesn’t make it? What if we can’t save her? I can’t lose her!_

 

Bellamy had quietly walked away, a thick, heavy lump in his throat. In reality, he could barely process what was happening. Clarke had tried to _kill_ herself. And all he could think about was that the last thing he’d ever said to her was that he’d wished he’d never found her. And maybe this was _his_ fault. That he’d done this.

 

A part of him was angry. So angry. Because _how dare she!_ How dare she try to take the easy way out! How dare she give up just when things were getting hard – just when she had to face up to the consequences of her actions!

 

He’d gotten drunk on the second night and mistakenly said all these things aloud. Bellamy doesn’t think he has ever seen Monty that viscerally angry in his entire life. Monty had screamed and cursed at him for hours, told Bellamy to _shut the fuck up, you don’t even know what you’re talking about!_ Monty reminded him of Jasper, of what it was like for him to be at the end of his rope – to want to end it all.

 

“ _It’s not the easiest thing in the fucking world, Bellamy. If it were, everyone on this planet would be dead already. It is the hardest decision anyone could ever make and don’t_ ever _try to think otherwise. And if you do still think that after everything, then I’m sorry but I can’t be your friend.”_

 

Bellamy woke up with a blistering hangover and a heavy heart. He’d taken Monty to the side and quietly apologized about what he’d said. Monty had only nodded, staying silent the entire time before stalking away to check if anything had changed.

Finally, on the third night, they had all been sitting in the chapel. Most of the others had left with Kane to the new settlement to help rebuild and it was only their little group sitting close to the fire. All of them were still traumatized, Madi especially. She had clung to Raven and Harper for the first two days but had gone back to resolutely cuddling with an unusually quiet Murphy.

 

The strangest thing – above all else – was that his _sister_ was sitting on the farthest post away from them, staring straight ahead. She hadn’t said anything after her declaration. She’d just been sitting there. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand why she had gone there to kill Clarke only to save her in the end. Bellamy didn’t understand a lot of things anymore.

 

It was Jackson and not Abby that emerged from the med-bay, hands still shaking and smeared with blood. He looked bone tired, with dark circles below his eyes and days worth of stubble adorning his chin. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his face to wipe away the sweat gathering there – and maybe even some tears.

 

For a few seconds, fear had gripped Bellamy so tightly he couldn’t breathe. All he could do was hope. And when everyone went ramrod straight and stared at him, Jackson sniffed.

 

 _Please,_ Bellamy had thought, _I can’t lose her again. Please, I didn’t mean what I said. Don’t let that be the last thing I ever said to her._

 

_**Please.** _

 

“ _She made it,” Jackson said, with a sound between a laugh and a sob escaping from him. “It’ll take some time before she can wake up, but she’ll live.”_

 

Everyone in the room had let out a collective sigh of relief. Raven started crying again, this time in happiness and relief. Shaw wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, while Emori had taken both Raven’s hands in her own and whispered _It’s okay she’s going to be okay._

 

And now, on the fourth morning after the _incident,_ they were once again sitting in the chapel, close to the fire. Madi wasn’t with them, had been ushered away by Kane early to see Clarke first. Bellamy had smiled at her, patting her hair and running a soft touch down her cheek.

 

No one says anything for a long time, Bellamy doesn’t think any of them know what to say. It is Echo who spoke up in the end.

 

“She did it because she was weak and selfish–”

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Murphy snarls. Everyone’s attention snaps to him, shocked at the sudden outburst.

 

“When _every_ person you love hates you – wishes you were dead – then you have every right to get far away from it. From them. But Clarke, she couldn’t _go_ anywhere. They took her home. _We_ took her home. We destroyed her life,” he sends a pointed look at Bellamy as he says, “ _her_ family.”

 

Murphy turns back to Echo, eyes hard as stone as he stares her down.

 

You don’t get to call her selfish – you don’t get to call her _anything._ It’s your fault she thought she needed to do... that,” before Bellamy could protest against the statement, Murphy barrels on. “It’s _all_ our faults. Because we didn’t see what we were doing – we didn’t even think about it. We said things in the heat of the moment, out of hurt and anger and we never apologized. Not once.

 

His gaze cut through Bellamy, his eyes as sharp as his words. Murphy’s gaze doesn’t waver as he stares at Bellamy.

 

“She spent six years waiting for you, for us. And what did you do? You tell her you wished we never found her. You guilt-tripped us every day for those six years – telling us not to waste her sacrifice – and then turn your back on her the minute she does something wrong. As if we _all_ haven’t done terrible, horrible, _awful_ things. To others. To each other.

 

“Oh, she left you to die? Well, I know how _that_ feels. Did they torture you, Bellamy? Did they rip your fingernails out, one-by-one? Did they stab you over and over and _over_ again? No?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. Back then, he hadn’t felt even an ounce of guilt.

 

“But I _forgave_ you.”

 

“Murphy, it’s not the same–” Bellamy tries to reason, but that only seems to anger Murphy more.

 

“Your family wasn’t to be touched, but hers was fair game, right? It was for the greater good, right? You did it because it was the option that _saved_ everyone – that saved _your_ people. You did it because it’s what Clarke would have done. Because she told you to use your head, and you listen to Clarke don’t you?

 

“But Clarke was right there, Bellamy. She was right there and you didn’t _listen._

 

“You say we’re your family because we spent six years in the fucking void of space together. Stop acting like those six years only happened for you, for _us._ They happened to her too. She made her own family too. All she had was Madi. Correction, all she _has_ is Madi.”

 

It’s a low blow and Murphy knows it. But he shows no satisfaction in the reaction he elicits. Instead, he looks angrier, more frustrated than ever.

 

“She’s _you_ , Bellamy! She’s you from seven years ago when the _only_ thing that you cared about – the only thing that mattered above everything and anyone else – was Octavia. Don’t pretend you didn’t try to do the exact same thing back then. I was there.”

 

Bellamy remembers it. He’d thrown that radio into the river, potentially killing their chances of ever contacting the Ark. He’s been ready to pack his and Octavia’s bags and high-tail it out of there faster than the eye could see. Whether he had to drag her out kicking and screaming to do it.

 

“And you’re her. You’re her when she chained you up. When she locked Octavia out of the bunker. When she pointed a gun at you. And she did it for the same reason you did it. For the _greater good._ And you hated her for it.”

 

“The reason you hate each other so much right now is because you _are_ each other. You both just couldn’t handle looking in the fucking mirror. So, take a good and long fucking look.

 

“We’ve all killed,” most of their heads bow down, even Monty and Shaw. “We’ve all ruined lives for reasons only we could understand.”

 

Murphy shoots a look at Raven then, one that Bellamy understands all too well.

 

“None of us are special. Not Clarke, not me and _certainly_ not you,” Murphy’s upper lip curls in disgust at the implication that Bellamy might think that he’s above all of them.

 

He isn’t.

 

“So while all of you sit here, talking about her like she died – like she’s _still_ dead – I’m going to check up on _my_ friend. Unlike all the rest of you, I still consider Clarke _my_ family. Because she’s saved me too many times. Because she’s hurt me too many times. Because _that’s_ what family does. They hurt each other and then they repair the wounds. And I for one, am not ashamed of my scars.”

 

 

He walks off and Bellamy stares at his retreating back. Murphy disappears into the med-bay, sending them all one last scathing glare. Bellamy stares at the spot Murphy just vacated, stares at their tight-knit circle. Murphy’s words ring in his ears.

 

Bellamy can still remember two days ago after the battle was over and all that was left to do was to bury the bodies and rebuild. Clarke had tried – and tried and _tried_ – to apologize, but he’d just brushed her off. He’d spat words of acid at her – and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see her flesh melting away. He remembers the hitch in Clarke’s breath, how her whole body stuttered to a halt. Tears had gathered in her eyes but didn’t fall. She’d stared at him for a few seconds, so many emotions playing over her face he couldn’t pick them all apart before her expression had shuttered completely. Her face went blank and he remembers feeling one brief, horrid moment of unparalleled _fear_ before he’d squandered it.

 

 _It’s nothing she didn’t deserve,_ he’d told himself. But he hadn’t gotten any satisfaction from it. He hadn’t gotten anything but more pain. Because as much as he wanted to _make_ her feel what he felt, he also hated to be the one to make her feel such pain.

 

It had been the wrong thing to do.

 

“He’s right,” Raven says, looking at the tips of her boots and not meeting his gaze. “I don’t like it, but he’s right. You’re so used to playing your role and Clarke playing hers that you have no idea how to act when the roles are reversed.”

 

She looks up at him then, her stare vacant as she remembers something he can’t see.

 

“ _The Head and The Heart,_ right? But you changed, you became the head and Clarke the heart. You can’t hate her for loving the only thing that kept her sane for six years while we abandoned her and left her to die. And she can’t hate you for trying to come up with a solution that saves everyone – not when you’ve never had to make these kinds of decisions.

 

“The reason you work is because you _chose_ each other. You chose to forgive each other, time and time again. She’s already forgiven you. What you do now is in your hands and your hands only. I hope you make the right decision, Bellamy.”

 

Raven walks away, hefting her tired leg up and following after Murphy. Monty and Harper say nothing as they stand and follow as well. Bellamy is left alone with Echo and Emori. They don’t look at him either.

 

After a few strained moments of silence, Echo stands to leave. Bellamy doesn’t have to see the look on her face – the way she holds herself, eyes downcast and head low – to know that she’s upset. At him, at Clarke, both? He doesn’t know.

 

“Echo...” he tries, but Echo shakes her head and walks away. It’s a good thing because he doesn’t know what he would have said after if he could manage to say anything at all.

 

“Emori, what am I supposed to do?” he asks, almost desperate now.

 

She regards him carefully, her eyes moving from his hair to the bottom of his shoes, to the defeated expression on his face. She sighs in a way that only she can – part annoyed, part fond, fully over the entire situation. She was too accustomed to dealing with Murphy.

 

“Talk to her,” Emori says. Bellamy frowns and she smiles slightly, knowing him too well.

 

“Yes, it’s really that simple. Just, _talk._ Trust me, you think you have all the facts – that you know everything about what happened here – but you _don’t._ There are missing pieces, there are things you’ve missed and disregarded as unimportant. You don’t know what’s been running through her brain these past few days, hell these past few _years._ And you’ll never know until you sit down and hash it all out.”

 

There is an underlining tone to her voice, something close to yearning.

 

“It’s what would have saved me and John. If he had just been honest, if I had pushed a little harder instead of withdrawing. We both did horrible things to each other, said horrible things to each other. All because we didn’t want the other person to know how badly we felt,” she looks sad then.

 

But Bellamy has noticed the change between her and Murphy. They’re freer now. Happier. Even if they aren’t together.

 

“It’ll help. And if it doesn’t at least you’ll have closure and be able to move on,” Emori says.

 

She leaves him with that, following behind the rest of the group. He sits alone, gathering his thoughts. He’d spent the last few days so angry – at Clarke, at his sister, at _himself._ He was angry that despite the six years, nothing had changed. They were still fighting pointless wars. Still sacrificing people for nothing. It made his blood boil. It made his head spin. And then the revelation would hit him that maybe things would _never_ change, no matter how hard he tried.

 

But he has to change things. He has the power to do that, now more than ever. He decides to take it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will add to this story, but since I don't know when that will be, I've left this marked as complete for now.


End file.
